


Blessed Be the Boys Time Can't Capture

by starlight_starbright



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Avengers Movie Nights, BAMF Natasha Romanov, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Dinners, Explicit Sexual Content, Fire Escapes, Fuzzy socks, Group Therapy, Hurt Bucky Barnes, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Sam Gives Great Advice, Steve Feels, Steve Has Lots of Tattoos, Steve's A Good Person, Tattoo Artist Steve Rogers, Tony Is a Good Bro, True Love, Vague Description of Rape, Veteran Steve Rogers, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes, cute boyfriends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-05
Updated: 2015-02-05
Packaged: 2018-03-10 14:25:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3293705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starlight_starbright/pseuds/starlight_starbright
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“C’mon Bucky, we’re gonna be late,” his friend whines.</p><p>Bucky.</p><p>It can't be. No, it’s not possible.</p><p>“Told you,” he hears Natasha say from behind him. But Bucky is already gone, out the door and out of his life again.</p><p>Or: Steve works at a tattoo shop after being discharged from the military and he's been looking for Bucky Barnes for two years with no luck until James walks into his store. Feels, fluff, movie nights, and sex ensue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blessed Be the Boys Time Can't Capture

**Author's Note:**

> And with the black banners raised  
> As the crooked smiles fade  
> Former heroes who quit too late  
> Who just wanna fill up the trophy case again
> 
> And in the end  
> I’d do it all again  
> I think you’re my best friend  
> Don’t you know that the kids aren't all, kids aren’t alright?

It was another of his sleepless nights plagued by nightmares of bullets and blood and screams. Steve wakes up for the last time panting, covered in sweat, and shaking. After he gets his breathing under control, he changes and calls Sam. They meet in the park and run together. Well, _together_ is a relative term. More like Steve takes off running and laps Sam at least three times. Two hours later, they part ways, after Sam asks Steve at least six times what’s going on, and Steve heads home to shower before work. 

The water is cold and it wakes him up, banishing the demons into the recess of his mind. When he gets out, he traces cold fingers over the tattoo covering the scar on his chest. He doesn’t regret it, not at all. He saved his best friend’s life. He does, however, regret that the wound got him discharged. 

But it’s okay because now he works at Wolverine Tattoo and he gets to put all of those art skills into practice with six people he loves. It’s home to him, something he hasn’t had since his Ma died.

Steve gets ready, banishing the thoughts of the man with the dark hair, the man he saved, the man he loved. He can't think about him—can't think about what may have happened to him.

He doesn’t bother trying to hide his tattoos like most people in the work force. Granted, he probably has more tattoos than most people would dream of having—both arms completely covered, spots of ink here and there on his chest, his back, and his legs. He gets compliments on them all the time, so it’s easy to ignore the people who stare and whisper behind his back.

The drive to the shop is short, and he’s greeted by Logan at the front counter.

“You have an appointment at one,” Logan tells him. Steve nods, heading back to his station to get things ready. It’s twelve-thirty. Natasha is already piercing someone in the back and Tony is lounging on the chair in his station. When he sees Steve, he sits up. 

“How was your date last night?” Tony asks, smiling like an idiot. Steve rolls his eyes. Tony should know not to set him up with girls anymore.

“Would’ve been better if it was a guy.” Tony laughs.

“I’ll remember that next time.” Steve sighs. There’s no stopping Tony when he has his mind set on something. Steve prepares the needles and the ink, humming to himself as he works.

“Steve!” Logan calls from the front. Steve turns around to see a brunette and a blonde in the front of the store and _oh my god_ the brunet is hot. Long, dark hair, sharp cheekbones, and a nervous smile. He doesn’t have any visible ink that Steve can see, but that doesn’t mean much. Steve walks to the front, reaching out to shake hands with the two men, hoping the one getting tattooed is the brunet.

“Hi. I’m Steve.” The brunet is looking at him like he’s seen a ghost. “Which one of you am I tattooing today?”

“Me,” the brunet says, reaching forward to shake Steve’s hand. His grip is warm and firm, skin smooth, and Steve doesn’t want to let go, but the man pulls back. “My names is James and this is my friend Clint.” Steve nods at them both.

“What do you have in mind?” James pulls a piece of paper from his back pocket with a quote scrawled on it. _Not all who wander are lost._ “Lord of the Rings?” James grins.

“What can I say? I love Tolkien. I want it just under my collarbone. To cover a scar.” Steve nods and tells the two men to stay put while he goes and sketches something out. In the back, Steve has to take a deep breath.

“Well, he’s hot,” Natasha says from behind him. Steve jumps before laughing.

“Yeah. He is.” The redhead comes to stand next to him while he sketches.

“He looks familiar though,” she says, voicing what Steve had been thinking.

“You think anyone with dark hair looks like him,” Steve says, sighing. He and Natasha had been in the same regiment, the 107th. Ever since they came home, they’d both been searching for Bucky Barnes, the man Steve saved, his best friend. Now anyone who looks remotely like Bucky is fair game for Natasha to set Steve up with. 

“Just sayin’,” she says, leaving Steve to work. He puts all of his focus on the pencil and the paper, drawing a few different designs before taking them back up for James to examine. He chooses one and takes James back to his station, setting him up on the chair and asking him to take his shirt off. And _fuck_ the guy is beautiful. Hard, scarred muscle under tanned skin. 

“Let me know if you need a break or anything,” Steve says, dipping the needle in the ink and turning it on. The buzzing fills the room and James visibly tenses up. “Just relax.” James nods and Steve leans over him, getting to work. James sits well, not complaining or asking him to stop. It’s over in forty-five minutes. Steve wipes the excess ink off and covers the ink in antibacterial gel before covering it with gauze and tape. “Keep it covered for at least two hours and whatever you do, don’t pick at the scabs. It’ll itch and when it does, put non-scented lotion on it. Don’t submerge it in water, but showers are okay as long as you don’t scrub at it.” Steve hands him an aftercare pamphlet and leads James up to Logan. The older man gives Steve a knowing look, but doesn’t say anything as James pulls his shirt back on.

“Thanks man,” James says, paying Logan before giving Steve a tip. “I’ll definitely be coming back here.” Steve smiles and shakes his hand again. As he’s leaving, Steve’s world stops.

“C’mon Bucky, we’re gonna be late,” his friend whines.

It can't be. No, it’s not possible.

“Told you,” he hears Natasha say from behind him. But Bucky is already gone, out the door and out of his life again.

-

A week later, Steve attends his weekly group therapy session with Sam at the VA, still conflicted about Bucky. But what can he do? It’s not like he can just look him up (even though he’s tried—the internet wasn’t helpful). Natasha tells him to be patient, that he’ll see Bucky around because he said he’d come back to get tattooed again, but Steve is antsy.

He’s so distracted that when he walks through the door of the meeting room, he almost runs into someone. 

“Sorry,” he mumbles, not looking up. He sits in one of the plastic chairs like he always does, and Sam starts the meeting once everyone is seated. And as always, Steve doesn’t speak. He only comes to these things because Sam says it’s good for him to be around people with the same experiences. Steve doesn’t think that any of these people have gone through anything remotely close to what he has, but of course he doesn’t say that to Sam. He’s no different than any other veteran—hasn’t gone through anything worse than anyone else. It just seems as if, form what people have shared, that no one can really relate to him. Until he sees the tall brunet with pale blue eyes.

Bucky is here. Across the room from him. _Oh God._

“Steve?” Sam asks. “Anything to add?” Steve glares at him and Sam gives him a soft smile. “It’s good to talk about it.” Steve sighs.

“I’d been in for four years, since I was twenty, and was just starting my next tour. My team had been together for years by then and we were pretty close. And one day we were just doing our normal patrols when we drove into an ambush. Three of my guys were killed and I was injured saving my friend. After that, they discharged me and I never saw him again. My friend Natasha cycled out shortly after, and now we’re here. Two years later and I’m still not used to the noise of the city. I still flinch when I hear fireworks. Still have nightmares.” Steve looks up at Sam. “It never goes away, does it?” Sam leans forward, forearms braced on his knees.

“If you let people in, let your friends help you and be open and honest about your problems, things _will_ get better. You just have to give it time. I know two years feels like an eternity, but I’ve been back four years and I still have the occasional nightmare. It’s not linear. You can be doing really well and then the next day end up back at the start. You just have to have a good support system around you, Steve.” Steve nods and looks back down as someone else starts to talk.

As soon as the meeting is over, Steve is quick to try and get away. It was too stuffy in there, too hot, and even though he hasn't had an asthma attack in years, he feels like he can't breathe. He goes into the first room he comes to and braces himself against the wall, breathing deeply.

“Steve?” someone asks from behind him. Bucky. _Oh God Bucky is here_. Steve doesn’t move, just drops his forehead to the wall and squeezes his eyes closed. “Steve, hey,” Bucky says, placing a tentative hand on his back. Steve can feel the warmth even through the three layers he has on. “Hey, breathe, yeah? Deep breaths.” He lets Bucky soothe him, content with the warm hand on his back and the familiar voice. When he opens his eyes, those familiar eyes are staring back at him, amazed.

“Hey, Buck,” Steve says, managing a small smile. Bucky pulls him close, almost crushing him with the force of the embrace.

“God, Steve. I thought I'd never see you again. I didn’t even know you were _alive._ They didn’t tell us anything.” Steve wraps his arms around Bucky’s waist and squeezes.

“I’m fine, I'm okay.” When they pull apart, Bucky’s eyes are wet with tears. “I tried to find you,” he admits, looking down. “I didn’t give up, Buck. I kept looking.” Bucky smiles and pulls Steve in close for another hug. 

“Let’s go get dinner and catch up, yeah?” Bucky asks quietly. Steve nods and follows him out. Bucky is here, with him, and Steve feels like his heart is going to explode.

-

They take Steve’s bike to his favourite diner and it’s _so damn distracting_ to have Bucky’s arm around his waist—his right arm—but they get there without incident. They order food and milkshakes and Bucky looks at him like he’s hung the moon. There’re a few minutes of silence before Bucky leans back and licks those red lips. 

“How are you, then?” he asks, looking Steve over.

“If you’re talking about the chest wound, it’s not that bad anymore. But they never got the bullet out. It’s embedded in the bone.” Steve looks down and then back up, blush spreading across his cheeks and neck at Bucky’s intense gaze. “It still hurts when it rains.” Bucky looks so guilty—like Steve would ever blame him for what happened. He leans forward and lowers his voice. “It was my call, Buck, and I don’t regret it. Not for a second.” The older man closes his eyes for a few moments, a pained expression on his face. He shouldn’t be hurt, not ever. Steve scrambles for a way to change the subject, but comes up with nothing.

“Did I ever say thank you?” Bucky asks, opening his eyes slowly. Pale blue eyes bore into Steve’s.

“Not in so many words, but I got the message.”

_“Steve! Fuck. Stevie wake up, please. God Steve, please. Don’t leave me like this.”_

“Well, I'm saying it now. Thank you. You saved my life.” Their food comes and Steve thanks the waitress and waits until they’re alone again to speak.

“I’d do it again, Bucky. ‘Till the end of the line, yeah?” The brunet cracks a smile that looks and feels like sunshine.

“Yeah. Yeah, Stevie. ‘Till the end of the line.” They eat in companionable silence for a few moments. “So tattoos?” Bucky asks, grinning and gesturing at Steve’s arms. “Always knew you were a fantastic artist, but never pegged ya for one to get inked.” Steve laughs. 

“Work around it for long enough and it’s kinda inevitable.” Bucky smiles and sips his milkshake. “Used to just do designs before Logan taught me how to tattoo. He gave me my first one—to cover the scar. It’s kinda addicting.” The brunet laughs, nodding.

“I can see that. Did Logan do those, too?” he asks, nodding at Steve’s arms.

“I did most of them, but yeah, he had to do the ones farther up.” Bucky holds his right hand out and Steve places his wrist in that waiting grip. Bucky inspects the tattoos, tracing his fingers over black lines. Steve is pretty proud of the geometric designs with hidden meanings—it took him forever to get done.

“These are really good, Steve,” Bucky says, giving Steve his arm back. “Not that I expected anything less.” The brunet smiles at him and pushes back in the booth to stretch his legs out, foot bumping Steve’s shin playfully. They’re just down to their milkshakes now, food gone. Steve cocks his head, wondering. Bucky hasn’t used his left arm at all and Steve can see the scars. He doesn’t ask, not yet.

“Do you wanna stay out or go home?” Steve asks, taking another drink of peanut butter deliciousness.

“Um . . . seeing as I don’t really have a place to go . . .” Bucky trials off, avoiding Steve’s gaze. 

“Where’ve you been staying?” 

“Clint’s, but his landlord found out and isn’t happy about it.” Steve looks at Bucky for a second, before pushing his glass away and offering a hand to the brunet.

“You’re staying with me,” he says, decided. 

“Steve—I couldn’t—”

“Not asking, Buck,” Steve interrupts, hauling Bucky out of the booth. “I have an extra room. I don’t mind.” Bucky lets a smile flicker across his features before following Steve out into the wintry night. “C’mon. I don’t live far from here.” Bucky gets on the bike behind him, Steve again giving him the one helmet he had. Bucky looks at him dubiously, but puts it on because he _knows_ Steve, and he knows Steve won't take _no_ for an answer.

-

Two weeks later, Steve and Bucky have a routine worked out. Steve gets up at six to run with Sam, leaving Bucky asleep in the apartment—their apartment—and comes back an hour later to make coffee for both of them. He leaves a mug out to cool—Bucky likes cold coffee—and gets ready for work. He showers, dresses, and then eats a small breakfast. By that time, usually Bucky is awake, but still in bed. Steve usually tells Bucky when he’s leaving, and then goes and gets to work at ten to open up the store. He’s usually there for about four hours before Bucky comes in to lounge at the front counter and chat with Natasha and Tony. Then Bucky goes to work across the street at Shield Florist with Clint and the manager, Maria. Steve and Bucky get off at the same time most days, going back to the apartment together and making dinner or ordering takeout. They watch TV or movies or baseball or Steve will draw while Bucky reads until they chose to go to bed—in separate rooms, much to Steve’s dismay. 

He still hasn’t told Bucky how he feels—he can't. He can't mess this up. Bucky seems to be okay with small touches—hugs, rubbing shoulders on the couch, gentle fingers to his inner wrist, Steve’s hand on the small of his back when they’re walking busy streets—but Steve doesn’t want to push, doesn’t want to ask for anymore favours from Fate.

They go to group therapy together now, driven on Steve’s bike. Sometimes they talk and sometimes they don’t, but they always talk to each other. About everything but Bucky’s arm. Steve wants to ask, wants to know, but he doesn’t want to make his best friend uncomfortable. Doesn’t want to bring up painful memories. Sometimes he’ll wake up to hear Bucky’s heavy panting through the thin walls, knowing he’s had a nightmare. The first few times, Steve had knocked on the door, gone in quietly to ask if he was okay. Bucky had waved him off, said he was fine and asked Steve not to worry. Now when he hears Bucky’s frightened voice, he sits outside the door until the room goes quiet, until he can peek in the door and see the brunette asleep again.

Steve worries. That’s nothing new—Steve’s always worried about Bucky. Even when they didn’t know each other the pale blue eyes had drawn him in. The man’s personality had screamed _I may be tough but I haven’t seen much kindness._ Steve had learned that Bucky’d grown up an orphan, had tried to enlist when he was eighteen but hadn't been accepted until he was twenty-two and by then, Steve had been in for two years. He had learned that though Bucky may seem all fun and games while off-duty, he was stoic and focused behind his sniper rifle, always ready, always watching.

So when Steve had jumped in front of that bullet—the bullet Bucky must’ve seen coming—he hadn't only saved Bucky’s life, but he’d given Bucky someone to put his trust in.

But then Steve had gotten whisked away to a hospital. The wound had been worse than they thought and Steve had been discharged and honoured and given no information on his team. No way to contact Bucky. He had abandoned him—accidentally—and he’d never forgotten it. Was still trying to make up for it.

Nostalgia is a bitch, and it’s having a great go at Steve while he’s trying to work. This guy has an intricate back piece and Steve can't seem to focus. He never uses stencils—feels like that’s cheating—and so he has to tell the guy they both need a break, using the excuse that his hand is cramping up. It isn’t totally a lie—he’s been working on this piece for two hours—so they guy decides that he’ll just come back later. Says he has to be somewhere in an hour anyway.

“So what’s goin’ on with you?” Tony asks after the guy leaves. Steve looks at him from over the divider. Tony’d just got done tattooing a girl who’d given him a too-generous tip considering the amount of ink and time it had taken. She probably had thought Tony was hot. “You never take breaks, Steve-o.” Steve rolls his eyes.

“Just havin’ a bad day, I guess.” Tony, for once in his life, smiles sympathetically. Sometimes, Tony can be kind, and Steve can always see it under his I'm-an-ass exterior, but today Tony is letting it show—towards Steve, no less. He must be able to see how distracted Steve is.

“Look, you don’t have any appointments for the rest of the day. Why don’t you go home? Logan and I can cover the last few hours.” Steve gives him a surprised sideways glance and Tony does his best to look offended. “What? I can be nice! You look like you haven’t slept in two weeks.” Steve sighs.

“Sounds about right,” he mutters, wiping his hands on his jeans.

“Why don’t you just ask him out already?” the other man asks gently. Tony is almost never like this. He’s not a bad guy, he just usually doesn’t let people see this side of him. “Bucky, I mean.” As if Steve needed the clarification.

“He’s my best friend, Tony. I just got him back.” Tony leans back in his chair.

“That kid is head over heels for you, Rogers. You’d be doing you both a favour. Life is short, you know that all to well, and you’d best take advantage of the time you have with him.” And with that, Tony gets up, leaving Steve in stunned silence.

“He’s right, you know,” Natasha says from behind Steve.

“Not you, too,” Steve whines, looking up at her. She’s chewing gum, popping it every now and then. She had been for the past hour, cracking it so loud he’d jumped once or twice.

“You were in love with him then, you’re in love with him now. Same goes for him. Just do it already, Steve. You’re miserable. Do something about it.” And with that, she walks off, too, and Steve hopes he doesn’t get the same talk from Logan when he goes to leave.

“What they said,” Logan grumbles, adding a goodbye, and waving Steve out the door. Unfortunately, his friends are right. He has to do something about Bucky. So when he gets home, he paces—a lot—trying to figure out a plan. Or maybe he should just let it happen? Go with the flow? But fuck that, he was in the military. Everything planned out and detailed—calming. He feels better with a plan.

Except he can't come up with one and the door opens—Bucky’s home early.

 And _holy fuck_ he’s in tight-fitting jeans and a tight white shirt. God, he couldn’t look anymore beautiful.

“You’re home early,” Bucky comments, kicking his boots off at the door.

“Could say the same to you,” Steve says back, trying to keep his tone light. 

“Arm started acting up. Maria sent me home.” Steve crosses the floor, worry spilling over his face.

“Can I see?” he asks, stretching out a hand. Bucky looks at his outstretched hand warily, before placing his left wrist into Steve’s palm. Steve runs his finger over the scarred skin softly, so softly. It feels tense, muscles knotted under tanned skin. “C’mere,” Steve murmurs, leading Bucky to the bathroom. He grabs the familiar container from the medicine cabinet and scoops out some of the salve. “I use it when my muscles seize up,” he explains, massaging the mint-scented cream into Bucky’s skin.

“Feels good, Stevie,” Bucky murmurs quietly.

“Wanna tell me what happened?” Steve asks without looking up. Looking up would make Bucky even more uncomfortable. His friend tenses slightly. “relax,” Steve reminds him. 

“Not much to tell. Bomb went off. Shrapnel got embedded deep in there. The on-field medic wasn’t fully trained and damaged the nerves getting all the pieces out. Can't feel much in some places. Mostly near the shoulder.” Steve nods, rubbing more of the ointment in.

“You could have died,” he whispers, the words cutting like knives through his heart. Bucky could have died. _Bucky could have died._

“But I didn’t. I'm right here, I promise.” Steve finally looks up, placing the container back on the sink. And slowly, so slowly, Steve leans down to press a soft kiss to those red lips. Bucky tenses all over and Steve pulls away. 

“Buck—I'm sorry—I didn’t mean—” Bucky stand up quickly, sidestepping around Steve.

“I just . . . I need to go.” He walks quickly to the door and pulls on his shoes. Steve follows helplessly, cursing himself and everyone who had told him to go for it. To go for Bucky.

“Bucky, please. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, it was stupid and I shouldn’t have done that. You don’t have to leave.” Bucky looks at him like a deer in headlights and turns on his heel, hand on the doorknob.

“I just have to go.” And then he leaves, leaving Steve with the sound of rain and his too-quick heartbeat pounding in his ears.

- 

Steve calls him. Twice. The last time, he leaves a voice mail. _“I'm sorry—fuck I'm so sorry. You shouldn't be out in this storm. Please come home.”_ He tries texting, too. 

_God, I'm so fuckin' sorry._

_Bucky please._

_It won't ever happen again, just please tell me you don't hate me._

_I've lost you again, yeah?_

And Steve knows it isn't healthy, but he breaks out his whiskey and drinks way too much. Minutes tick past. Hours. He doesn't know how long Bucky's been gone anymore. At least five hours. The sky is deep grey, the storm not breaking, not letting the sun shine through those low-hanging clouds. And when Steve looks down at his phone for the millionth time and sees that he can barely read the screen, he decides it's time to stop drinking and take a shower. 

Thirty minutes later, Steve is freshly washed from a cold shower and only half-drunk—he had just eaten and he metabolises alcohol quickly—and sprawls out on the couch shirtless with his sketchbook. His sketchbook full of Bucky. He can't ever get his hands right, can't ever capture the roughness of callouses in contrast with the smooth skin. He gets so frustrated that he tosses the book on the coffee table, pages spilling out on the floor. He can't find it in himself to care. He picks up his phone and sends one last text.  

 _It's okat. I wouldn't comw back to mr eithet. You can stau away. I sont blame you._  

He hits send and immediately regrets it. Drunk texting is never a good idea, especially not after what he'd done. He'd kissed his best friend without permission, without warning. He'd made Bucky uncomfortable. The fear, the panic in those blue eyes is something Steve will probably never get over. Won't ever forget. 

He'd really fucked up. 

Steve must've fallen asleep on the couch because when he wakes up he has a blanket wrapped around him and a glass of water is sitting on the coffee table. His head is pounding but he sits up anyway, fully awake and fully aware. It's got to be somewhere close to three in the morning, and he's probably not going back to sleep tonight. Not with that nightmare haunting him. 

It was the one that always shook him up. The one where he couldn't save Bucky. When he'd died in Steve's arms. It only surfaced every now and again, but when it did, Steve could never fall back asleep. 

So he gets up and drinks the water. It's still cold. Bucky had come home. But when Steve checks his room, it's empty and the bed is cold. So maybe Bucky'd come home and then left again. Steve sighs and wraps the blanket around his shoulders and walks out onto the fire escape--the place he goes to think. Steve shivers in the cold morning night, sitting down on the rail facing the city, his legs dangling off the edge. 

“I'm not mad at you,” a voice says from behind him. Steve nearly jumps out of his skin, falling off the rail and onto the stairs below. “Steve!” Bucky calls, rushing down the stairs. Steve stays where he is, back twisted at an awkward angle and laughing breathlessly at himself through the pain. "Steve, don't move," Bucky says, kneeling beside him. “Fuck. What hurts?” Steve can't answer through his laughter. 

“I can't believe that just happened,” he chokes out, winded and still trying to laugh. He heed Bucky smile faintly in the dim light. He offers a hand, and Steve takes it, standing up painfully. Steve straightens his back, not looking at Bucky. “That's gonna bruise,” he mutters, picking up the blanket and wrapping it back around his bare shoulders. 

“Steve—”

“I'm just gonna go back inside . . .” Steve says, letting the sentence trail off.  

“Steve—” Bucky tries again, reaching out like he's going to grab Steve's wrist. 

“Bucky, we don't have to talk about it. I made you uncomfortable and I'm sorry. It won't happen again. Just forget about it.” This time, Bucky grabs his arm, forcing Steve to stop. 

“What if I don't wanna forget?” Steve gapes at him. Had he heard that right? Steve falls to the ground, hitting the metal stairs hard. _What the fuck? What's going on? Is Bucky serious right now_?

“Don't say that,” Steve whispers, pulse quickening. “I can't . . . I can't, Buck. I couldn't—” Bucky kneels beside him and leans in close, wrapping strong arms around Steve's shoulders. Steve goes willingly, breathing in the scent of smoke and rain—the scent so familiar it's a part of himself. 

“Stevie,” Bucky murmurs, pulling away. “I'm going to kiss you now.” All Steve can do is nod as Bucky cups his jaw and leans in. Warm lips press to his own, wet and inviting and Steve's world turns upside down. He's kissing Bucky. Bucky is kissing _him_. 

 _Oh my god_. 

Bucky pulls back, looking unsure, and Steve wipes the expression off of his face by diving back in and kissing him with abandon. He swipes his tongue over Bucky's bottom lip and the other man moans into the kiss, allowing Steve entrance to lick into his mouth. But it's cold, and after a few minutes Steve is shivering and Bucky pulls away. 

“Let's go inside, yeah?” Steve nods mutely, eyes transfixed on red, well-kissed lips, and follows Bucky up the stairs and back inside. As soon as the door closes, Steve has the older man pressed against it, kissing and nipping gently at that soft mouth. Bucky's hands are firm and warm on his waist, pulling him closer instead of pushing him away. Steve sighs into the kiss before pulling away and nuzzling into Bucky’s neck to hide his face. Bucky pulls his chin up and kisses him softly. “Don’t hide from me, Stevie.” Steve meets his eyes and Bucky smiles at him. 

“I’ve been waiting years to do that,” Steve admits. Bucky breaks into a grin and kisses him again.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Bucky traces his fingers over Steve’s scar, cold skin and rough callouses over smooth ink and puffy skin.

“The Howling Commandos?” Bucky asks, not looking up.

“You guys were my family. Are my family.” Bucky looks up slowly, eyes brimming with emotion.

“I love you, you know,” Bucky whispers, keeping eye contact. Steve groans and lunges in to a kiss, pressing their hips together roughly. Bucky moans into it, rutting up against Steve’s thigh.

“I love you, too,” he murmurs around lips and tongue and teeth. Bucky laughs, still kissing him.

“C’mon,” Bucky murmurs. “Let’s go to sleep.” Steve allows himself to be dragged into his room and manhandled into bed. They end up kissing some more and fooling around a bit, but it doesn’t go anywhere. Steve wants to do this right. Wants to give Bucky everything because that’s what he deserves and Steve is determined to give it to him.

- 

He wakes up late, which is still early for most people, but something different. _Oh._ Last night comes crashing down on him and he winces at his stupidity. But Bucky is here beside him—shirtless—and Steve smiles. _God, Bucky is beautiful_ , Steve thinks, gazing at the man asleep on his chest. He looks so much younger in sleep, years of war vanishing from his features. Steve could stay like this forever.

He goes to stretch and groans softly at the pain in his back because he just _had_ to fall off that railing. He mentally kicks himself for being an idiot, but smiles bigger when he remembers what happened after. Hot kisses and warm bodies pressed against each other. His cock takes notice, but he pushes the desire down, determined to do right by Bucky.

He gets out of bed quietly to jump in the shower and strokes himself to orgasm, bracing himself against the wall. He breathes deeply, washes his hair, and gets out. With a towel wrapped around his waist, he walks back into his bedroom and gets dressed in comfortable sleep pants and a white t-shirt. Bucky stirs when Steve lies back down beside him, stroking his hair.

“Shh, go back to sleep,” Steve whispers. Bucky rolls over, half asleep, to face Steve.

“You leaving?” Bucky asks, nuzzling sleepily into Steve’s chest. “Smell good.” Steve laughs softly and kisses his hair. 

“I don’t have work today,” Steve tells him, rubbing out the kinks in the other man’s back. “Just can't ever sleep past seven.” Bucky makes a sleepy noise, arching into Steve’s touch.

“Feels good, Stevie.” Steve kisses him softly before settling back in under the covers on his back, arm around Bucky shoulders and other hand reaching for his sketchbook. He lifts one knee, bracing the book there and begins to sketch the man lying on his chest. Bucky’s back to sleep now, breathing even and steady, hand fisted in Steve’s shirt. Steve takes his time, moving his pencil slowly and shading carefully. Usually the sketches of Bucky are hasty, drawn quickly before Steve’d started to cry—missing his best friend—but now he has all the time in the world. 

He tries to control his movements as to not wake Bucky, but eventually Bucky rouses anyway—around ten. By then, Steve is on his second sketch—Bucky’s left hand twisted in his shirt. Bucky blinks up at him sleepily before moving his eyes down to look at what Steve’s doing. His eyes widen, mouth dropping open slightly.

“Steve . . .” Steve smiles softly before handing Bucky the book.

“It’s um . . . basically all you.” Bucky takes it and turns so that he’s leaning on Steve to flip through the thick pages. When he comes to the last two sketches, he trails his fingers over the pages lightly. “They’re really not that good,” he offers and Bucky puts the book on the nightstand gently before climbing on top of Steve.

“Fuck that,” he says, leaning down to poke at Steve’s ribs. “They’re brilliant, Stevie. Gorgeous. You make me look good.” He pokes at Steve’s ribs until Steve is laughing, until Steve admits that he likes his sketches, and then leans down to kiss him softly.

“Breakfast?” Steve asks, looking up into soft eyes, chastely stroking Bucky’s thigh.

“Yeah.” Bucky gets up, pulling Steve with him, and they go into the kitchen to make pancakes. Halfway through, the door unlocks and Natasha walks in in pajama pants and a tank top.

“Smelled pancakes. Feed me.” Steve laughs and slides her a mug of coffee.

“She has a key,” he tells Bucky. The other man nods and moves to pull Natasha in a bone-crushing hug. She looks surprised at first, but then returns the gesture.

“I don’t think I've told you how glad I am to have you back,” Bucky tells her, setting her down and kissing her forehead. 

“I missed you too, Barnes.” She reaches on her tiptoes to ruffle Bucky’s hair and he smacks her hand away. Natasha kicks him playfully and has him pinned on the floor in point-oh-two seconds.

“Children, no rough housing in the apartment,” Steve says mildly, flipping another pancake. They both laugh and stand up, drinking coffee out of their respective mugs, and sit down at the breakfast bar while Steve sets an outrageous amount of pancakes in front of them.

“Do you have milk?” Natasha asks. “Steve goes to the fridge and grabs the milk for himself and Natasha and then refills Bucky’s mug with coffee. “You know us so well,” Natasha says, laughing.

“I’ve known you my whole life, Nat.” Steve rolls his eyes and eats, drenching his pancakes in maple syrup. His hand is on top of Bucky's on the counter, thumb stroking over his knuckles. Natasha gives their hands a pointed look and Steve shrugs, smiling. 

“You two are ridiculous,” she mutters, shaking her head fondly. Bucky laughs around a mouthful of pancakes and Steve has to thump him on the back to keep him from choking. 

“I don't know what you're talking about,” Steve says flippantly, rolling his eyes. 

“Anyone ever tell you that you're a sarcastic little shit, Rogers?” 

“Every day,” Bucky mutters, finishing his plate and taking the dishes to the sink. Steve is smiling stupidly and Natasha pushes away from the breakfast bar and gets up. 

“So you just came to eat food and leave?” Natasha winks at him. 

“Yep. Have fun, kids.” She saunters away, closing the door behind her. Bucky helps Steve do the dishes and they curl up on the couch and watch movies. There's kissing and some gentle touching, but things are kept PG-13. They get through two movies and then break for lunch, ordering Chinese takeout and eating on the couch while they start another movie. When Bucky is done eating, he climbs into Steve's lap and rests his head on Steve's chest. Steve doesn't have the heart to tell him that it hurts, so he doesn't. 

“This is nice,” Bucky murmurs. He turns his face away from the TV and presses it into Steve's chest. Steve just hums happily and runs his fingers through Bucky's dark hair. Bucky nuzzles in deeper, breathing deeply. “Are we gonna talk about this?” he asks, not looking up. Steve frowns slightly, peering down at the man curled up on him. 

“What's there to talk about?” Bucky looks up at him slowly, blue eyes worried. 

“I don't . . . I don't wanna . . .” Steve reaches up and smooths the crease on Bucky's forehead. 

“You don't want to what, Buck? You can tell me.” Bucky searches Steve's face and then looks down. 

“I just . . . Last time I got involved with a guy it turned out with me getting hurt in more ways than one.” Steve feels his body tense. 

“Did someone hurt you?” Bucky looks down. “Tell me and I'll kill him.” Bucky huffs a laugh. 

“He's already dead, Steve.” Realisation dawns on Steve. 

“Rumlow.” Bucky nods. 

“We . . . I took it really hard after you were hit. He was just . . . there and I wasn't strong enough to fight him off when he wanted more.” Steve's grip tightens around the body in his arms. Bucky is trembling slightly and Steve presses a gentle kiss to his hair.  

“He was your first, wasn't he?” Bucky nods. 

“With a guy, yeah.”

“He raped you,” Steve guesses, anger coursing through his veins.

“Yeah.” Steve feels like he can't breathe and Bucky lets out a squeak of surprise. Steve's squeezed him too tight. “Multiple times. He enjoyed . . . hurting me.” Bucky looks so uncomfortable but Steve needs to know. “Hitting me, fucking me roughly with little preparation. He got a few of his friend in on it a few times. That was the worst, when they all ganged up on me. I couldn’t tell anyone, no one would believe me. To everyone else, Rumlow was a saint—couldn’t do any wrong. But then we were on an op and he got shot. Just like that. And I was happy, Steve. I was _happy_ and I shouldn’t’ve been. We’d just lost a man, but I was so relieved. And that’s when I told Clint everything. You two are the only ones who know.” Bucky looks like he’s going to cry and Steve doesn’t blame him. What had happened to him was so _wrong._ So _sick_ that Steve feels like he might throw up.

“I should have been there,” Steve whispers, scrambling for a way to make this right. “You don't have to . . . Bucky I'm not gonna force you into anything. If you don't want this, tell me and I'll back off. I swear I will. Just. Fuck. I should have been there. To protect you.” Bucky kisses the tattoo over Steve's scar. 

“I want this. With you. I'm just afraid. I know you wouldn't . . . I know you wouldn't hurt me. Not ever. But it's fuckin' terrifying to want you this much. I've never wanted anyone so much in my life.” He looks up at Steve, eyes clear and truthful. 

“So yesterday when I kissed you—” 

“It reminded me of him, yeah. That's why I left. I wasn't mad at you. I just . . . I'm used to people only wanting me for sex. That's how it was with all the girls, too. No one ever wanted me for me.” Steve cups Bucky's jaw and leans in slow to press a kiss to waiting lips. 

“I want you for you, Bucky. I want to make you pancakes and coffee and we can watch stupid movies and I'll buy you fuzzy socks because your feet are always cold and I'll sleep next to you every night and chase away the nightmares. I want to be that. I want to do that. For you. With you. If you'll have me. Sex doesn't even have to come into play if you don't want it to.” Bucky smiles and kisses Steve again. 

“I like sex. That's not what I'm saying. I just--Steve I'm not used to . . . to being wanted. To being loved.” Steve hugs him tight, his cheek resting in all of that hair. 

“You're so loved. Me, Natasha, Clint, the Howling Commandos . . . We all love you. And I'm pretty sure Sam and Tony loves you too. Everyone loves you, Bucky. Especially me. If you want that.” Bucky inhales sharply and pushes Steve down so he can straddle his hips before kissing him roughly. Steve is helpless like this, so he just grips Bucky's waist and allows himself to be kissed. 

“I want that. I love you, too. I have. For a while. Just took me longer to figure it out.” Steve smiles big and kisses him one more time. 

“I'm taking you out to dinner tonight,” Steve declares, poking Bucky in the ribs. “And then my friends are having a movie night and I'd like you to come. We do it every Friday night. You could invite Clint--I think Nat has a thing for him. Tony brings his boyfriend Bruce and Sam, Logan, and Maria come too. Sometimes Thor will come with his girlfriend, Jane. And it's my turn to pick the movie.” Bucky smiles at him, eyes full of gratitude and what looks like love. 

“That sounds fantastic. You're fantastic.” Steve kisses him again, and they finish their movie, excited for the full night ahead of them. 

-

Dinner is, well, spectacular. Steve takes Bucky out to a restaurant he knows Bucky will love and enjoys watching Bucky get dressed for it. He’s wearing black jeans and a white button down, his hair falling around his face. Steve opts for black jeans and a black-and-blue flannel, showing off his tattoos because he knows Bucky loves them.

They order food and beers and talk and laugh and honestly enjoy themselves, distancing themselves from the conversation earlier. Steve knows they’ll have to come back to it, that Bucky is still going to have issues, but Steve loves him, and he thinks it’s going to be okay. So he lets himself enjoy dinner, enjoy Bucky’s foot resting on top of his and their hands entwined on the table. They get a few disgusted looks—mostly from older folks—but Steve just glares until they look away. He’s not going to let anyone tell him that what he’s doing with Bucky is wrong. What he’s doing with Bucky is out of love, and he doesn’t really care what anyone thinks as long as they don’t voice their opinions in front of Bucky. The brunet doesn’t need anything else to worry about.

Steve drives them back to their apartment building on his bike, reveling at Bucky’s warm arms around his waist. Steve had finally bought another helmet at Bucky’s request, so they could both be safe, and he speeds through the streets. When they get back and park, they head straight up to Natasha’s—Bucky going in and Steve going to grab the snack he’d bought from his own apartment. By the time he get’s into Natasha’s apartment, everyone is there and Bucky’d saved Steve the corner seat on the couch. The brunette beckons Steve over, making room under the blanket for Steve to snuggle in and get comfortable. They’re watching _Back to the Future_ because Steve knows that Bucky loves sci-fi and he wants to make Bucky happy.

That’s really all he wants.

So for the entire movie, Steve cards his hand through Bucky’s hair, massaging gently because he knows Bucky likes it. He chucks popcorn at Tony who in turn throws it a Logan, who does not look amused, but he sees the older man smiling at him and Bucky when he thinks Steve isn’t looking. He sees Tony give Bruce a quick kiss every now and then and sees Natasha and Clint curled up together. Everyone looks happy and Steve feels his heart swell with love for these people—for his family.

Sure, he misses his Ma, but she was sick and unhappy and Steve had seen it coming. He just hadn't expected it to happen while he was away. He hadn't gotten the chance to say goodbye, and that stung. He still visited her grave at least once a month, leaving her favourite flowers and telling her how things were going with him, how much he missed her, how sorry he was that he hadn't been there when she’d needed him. He knows it’s probably unhealthy, but it makes him feel better.

Steve doesn’t even notice that the movie’s over until Bucky stretches out, hitting him in the face. He mumbles an apology and Steve laughs, kissing him quickly. They hang out for thirty more minutes before excusing themselves and going back to their own apartment. As soon as they’re in the door, Bucky has him pressed against the door, kissing him hard and deep. His hand sneaks down to rub against Steve’s half-hard cock through his jeans, and Steve gasps.

“Buck, you don’t—”

“I want to,” Bucky says, kissing him again. “I want you. And I want you now.” Steve kisses him, still unsure and that makes Bucky unsure. “Unless you don’t want . . .” Steve grabs the older man’s hips and grinds against him. 

“Fuck that,” Steve rumbles, kissing Bucky harder, biting at his lower lip. “I want you so fuckin’ much, Bucky. So much.” Bucky grins and kissed down Steve’s neck.

“Bed,” Bucky rasps, voice hoarse. “Now.” Steve nods and they make their way to the bedroom, stopping every few feet to kiss and undress each other. By the time Steve lays Bucky out on the bed, they’re both naked. “I, uh, kinda stretched myself before we went to dinner.” He grins smugly when Steve gapes at him.

“ _You little shit,_ ” Steve growls, kissing Bucky again, grinding his hips down. “You planned this.” Bucky smiles into the kiss, nodding. Steve takes Bucky’s cock in his hand, stroking slowly.

“Steve,” the brunet breathes, tugging gently on Steve’s bottom lip with his teeth. “Want you. Please.” Steve nods, grabbing the lube he keeps in the nightstand and slicking his fingers.

“Let’s see how well you prepped yourself, yeah?” Bucky groans when Steve slides two fingers into his body, and cries out when Steve finds his prostate, rubbing against it gently.

“Don’t tease,” he begs. “I’ve wanted this for so long. Please.” Steve listens, not in the mood to tease either. He wants Bucky, and he wants Bucky _now_. He adds another finger until Bucky is a writhing mess, moaning and cursing incoherently.

“Condom?” Steve asks and Bucky opens his eyes.

“I’m clean. I got tested after . . .” Steve nods and kisses him.

 “Me too. Clean, I mean.” Bucky laughs and pulls him back for a kiss. “No, then. Good. I want to feel you.” Bucky grips Steve’s ass and pulls him closer.

“Then get on with the feeling, Rogers.” Steve rolls his eyes at Bucky’s impatience, but does as he’s told, sliding in slowly.

“ _Fuck,_ ” he moans, the tight heat of Bucky surrounding him, permeating all of his senses. "You tell me if you want to stop. If you want to slow down."

"I will," Bucky promises. "But right now I want it. I want you." Steve smiles and kisses him.

"Good." Bucky lifts his hips, an invitation, and Steve can't stop himself from snapping his hips, from fucking into that heat faster, deeper. Bucky doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, he loves it, moans of _fuck_ and _harder_ spilling from his mouth. And Bucky really has a dirty mouth.

“Fuck, baby. That’s it, just like that,” he encourages, gripping Steve’s ass with his right hand and curling his left arm around Steve’s waist. Steve obeys, helpless, giving Bucky exactly what he wants. How can he not when Bucky’s talking like this? “God, Steve. This ain't gonna last long. ‘M gonna come so pretty for you.”

“Jesus fuck, Bucky. Where’d you learn to talk like that?” Bucky just smiles smugly and continues to talk, pulling needy noises out of Steve’s chest—noises Steve’s never heard himself make before. Everything about sex with Bucky is different. Steve’d never been in love before, but he knows that’s what he’s feeling now—unending love for the man under him. “’M gonna come,” he warns Bucky, his thrusts becoming clumsy, harder and more shallow, angling for Bucky’s prostate.

“I’m so close, Stevie. Don’t you dare stop.” Steve comes first, still fucking Bucky hard and fast, hand reaching down to stroke Bucky to orgasm and _fuck_ is Bucky hot when he comes. Head thrown back, mouth open, nails digging into Steve’s ass. “Fuck, fuck, _fuck Steve oh God._ ” Come paints Bucky’s stomach and chest, Steve’s come dripping out of his hole. Steve thrusts until he has no energy left, until Bucky becomes too sensitive for Steve to continue. He rolls to the side, pulling out of the older man carefully, and pulls him close.

“I love you,” Steve reminds Bucky once he’s caught his breath.

“You’re fuckin’ brilliant, you know that?” Bucky has a dopey smile on his face, eyelids drooping.

“I’ve been told that on occasion,” Steve shoots back.

“Punk.”

“Jerk.” After a few more minutes, Steve has control of his body again and gets up to grab a warm washcloth, wiping himself clean and then Bucky before getting back under the covers.

“I love you too,” Bucky whispers, nuzzling into Steve’s neck. “For fuckin’ always.” Steve kisses his forehead, wondering how he’s lucky enough to have this, to have this man here in his arms all sleepy and fucked out and _his_. 

“’Till the end of the line, yeah?” Bucky smiles into Steve’s shoulder, tracing the scar on his chest. Steve runs his hand through Bucky’s hair, peppering his neck and shoulder with kisses.

“Yeah, Stevie. The end of the line. Always.” Bucky’s falling asleep and he’s so goddamn beautiful that Steve can barely stand it. He reaches over and turns the lamp off, admiring Bucky in the moonlight before closing his eyes and burying his face in soft brown hair.

The end of the line, Bucky’d said. Steve can do that. Steve can love him and cherish him and chase away the demons in Bucky’s head. Steve can be strong for Bucky, can protect him even though Bucky’s more than capable of doing it himself. Thing is, they don’t have to be alone anymore.

Thing is, they have each other. ‘Till the end of the line.


End file.
